The Class A doors creaked open, drawing the attention of the restless students. An old man stepped into the lecture hall, his gait steady yet deliberate, the faint sound of beads clinking against each other accompanying every step.
He wore flowing white priestly robes trimmed with faint golden patterns that shimmered under the morning light, and around his neck hung a silver medallion etched with the emblem of the Goddess . His hair, long and silken despite its snowy color, cascaded down his shoulders, framing a face weathered by age yet marked by serenity. His eyes, however, held a sharp clarity—piercing blue irises that seemed to look straight into the soul, unclouded despite the wrinkles that gathered around them.
His presence alone stilled the murmurs. A quiet reverence spread through the room.
The man stopped at the podium, clasped his hands before him, and bowed slightly.
